"Nine it shall be." Her posture remained rigid, as though she'd just agreed to a duel rather than employment.
"Father?" Sophia's voice came from across the salon. "They need your approval for the final design."
"If you'll excuse me," he said, offering a slight bow to the sisters.
As he turned to rejoin his daughter, something caught his eye—a bolt of violet silk lying on a nearby table. The color was rich and deep, shimmering in the afternoon light that streamed through the shop's tall windows.
He paused, his expression shifting subtly as he reached out to touch the edge of the material. The color reminded him instantly of the amethyst pendant he found months ago at the masquerade ball, and unbidden, the mysterious woman's voice echoed in his mind: "You see me now, but you won't tomorrow."
He remembered how soft and plump her lips had been and how he wanted to kiss them as they danced. Swallowing and clenching his jaw, Tristan withdrew his hand and turned away, reminding himself that his focus must remain solely on his daughter.
Not a woman he would never see again.
CHAPTER 4
Lavinia gripped the strings of her reticule as she followed Evermere's butler through hallways that seemed to stretch endlessly before her.
"Lady Lavinia, Your Grace," the butler announced, stepping aside with a bow that somehow managed to be both respectful and disapproving, as though her very presence offended his sense of propriety.
The Duke of Evermere stood behind his desk, his broad shoulders outlined against the morning light streaming through the windows. He turned at her entrance, his expression as carefully composed as a painting—and about as warm.
"Lady Lavinia." He inclined his head. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"
"Perfectly so, Your Grace." Lavinia curtseyed. "Thank you for inquiring."
His dark blue eyes passed over her, assessing her simple gray traveling dress and matching pelisse with an intensity that made her acutely aware of every tiny stitch she'd repaired by candlelight. She resisted the urge to smooth her skirts. A lady never betrays her nervousness, Moira's advice echoed in her mind.
"I've had a space prepared for Lady Sophia's lessons," he said, moving from behind the desk. "If you'll follow me, I'll introduce you to my daughter before I attend to other matters."
He led the way without waiting for her response, leaving Lavinia to fall into step beside him. The hallway felt suddenly narrower with his presence beside her, though a proper distance separated them. She caught the faint scent of sandalwood and something uniquely his own that made her pulse quicken against all sense and reason.
Ridiculous, she scolded herself.You're here to educate his daughter, not to notice how he smells.
"Lady Sophia has had three governesses in the past year," the duke said abruptly, interrupting her wayward thoughts. "None lasted more than a month. I expect you to demonstrate more fortitude."
"Three?" Lavinia couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "Was there some deficiency in their methods?"
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "The deficiency was in their character. They found Sophia too reserved, and myself too exacting."
"I see." Lavinia carefully maintained her pace beside him. "And which complaint do you anticipate I'll make first, Your Grace?"
He glanced at her, something that might have been surprise flickering across his features before disappearing behind his mask of aristocratic indifference. "I expect you'll find us both insufferable within the week, Lady Lavinia."
"Then I shall endeavor to disappoint you," she replied, the words escaping before she could temper them.
For the briefest moment, the corner of his mouth twitched upward—a ghost of a smile that vanished so quickly she might have imagined it. They walked the remainder of the distance in silence until they reached a door near the east wing.
The duke rapped twice before opening it. "Sophia."
Lavinia followed him into a bright, airy room clearly designed for study. A small writing desk faced the windows, which overlooked what appeared to be formal gardens. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with educational texts arranged by subject. A globe stood in one corner, and maps of Europe and the Empire hung neatly framed on the opposite wall.
And there, perched on the edge of a straight-backed chair as though prepared for flight, sat Lady Sophia Lilacourt.
The girl had delicate features that reminded her painfully of Frances at a younger age. Her dark hair was neatly arranged in a simple style appropriate for her twelve years, and her eyes were on her folded hands. Her shoulders were drawn tight, and this was a posture Lavinia recognized all too well; a lonely child.
"Lady Sophia, this is Lady Lavinia," the duke said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly when addressing his daughter. "She will be your new tutor."
Sophia rose and executed a perfect curtsey, the movement as mechanical as a clockwork doll's. "How do you do, Lady Lavinia," she murmured, still not lifting her gaze.
